


Open

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AmeCan, Caname - Freeform, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Medical Kink, Suicide, UKUS, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Unfinished drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

He never thought he could hate himself any more than he already did. Here he stands, a bloody open mess of an arm, painting the tiles before him in red with their seemingly endless stream of life. The pocket knife was clenched tightly in his other palm, shaking from the extortion it took to simply hold it. He thought wrong.

Green eyes bored into him with an unexplainable emotion that Al couldn't quite place. For all he knows, it could be hatred. To him, that made the most sense. He was weak. Weak enough to take his own life, weak enough to hurt his citizens just to escape this hell. Who wouldn't see him as a disgrace? He just wants it to stop. 

So he looked up, trying to glance anywhere except for the eyes of his surrogate father. His gaze was suffocating, there was nothing he could do to escape it. In the back of his mind he reminded himself that this was Arthur, the Arthur who had raised him, been there for him, always. But had he really? He was starting to doubt himself yet again.

All the strength he had was sapped out along with the quick flow of blood, his buckling knees were knocked out from under him, leaving his heaving on the floor. His eyes scanned the floor blearily, noting the great puddles of blood that seemed to colour everything. As calm as he was before, he was soon in a panic. Ending his life earlier had seemed… perfect, almost. An easy escape from not only his weaknesses, but everyone else. They wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

A bloodied hand took hold of his hair, lifting his head from the ground to peer unforgivingly into his lifeless eyes, only to curtly drop it a second later. The same rough hand grabbed his abdomen and rolled him onto his back as he lost his senses. He groaned from the sudden change, resulting in his head being roughly bashed against the bathroom tile. He didn't make any more noise.


	2. Satiety

He could feel the hands, dawdling up his thighs. He could feel his brothers breath against his lips, smelling of copper and leaving him feeling queasy. He could feel the scalpel gently resting below his collar, eager to sink in and make rivers of red. Though, after parsing his situation, he found that what really debilitated him was the sweet, nearly amorous gaze that Matthew seemed to pierce him with. Hope bubbled in his chest, hoping he would end him swiftly. Knowing Mattie however, his wish would stay just that, a false hope. 

Matt pressured the scalpel, sketching a thin, scarlet line in his flesh, and flashed Alfred a shy grin along the way. Matthew’s voice shattered all hope Al had of being free. 

“I-I sharpened it just for you! I didn't want it t-to hurt too much for you, Al.” 

That elucidated the malleability of Alfred's interior to the sharp iron. One thing that still stumped Alfred’s deteriorating mind was why? If Mattie was just going to do god-knows-what to him, why ease the hurt? Matthew loved others in pain, did he not? Why try to make him less miserable than he already was? This all boggled his mind and slowed his thinking considerably, giving Matthew a chance to suffocate him with his lips, sealing off all sound. Red liquid pooled from the single line that had hastened down his torso, and that was the only sound. 

Carbon air flew into his eyes and beyond his stitched nose. Through this, he inferred that Matt got to breathe unrestricted, while Al was left suffocated and burning for air. This was punishment, he told himself. Punishment for not being able to keep quiet during playtime. The scalpel had long since disappeared, being set on the tray next to the imprisoned Alfred. Matthew’s head had moved just a few centimetres, letting him theiv selfish amounts of oxygen once again. 

“That wasn't so bad, was it? We only h-have a little more to go before you're perfect, Al! Just bear with me!”

White, gloved hands snaked there way to Alfred's newly earned opening, barely proding before a high-frequency yelp resonated throughout the room. The limbs pulled back and royal sage orbs peered sadly up at their hostage before closing once again. Sighing, Matt drew up and paced around the table until he was forward to the top of Alfred's head. His hand came and sat upon the wheat locks, silently treading through and removing some snarls. He really didn't want to harm his dear brother, but it was necessary to transform him.

His wrist jerked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly can't even remember what this one was about, I probably made this at 2 in the morning after browsing BestGore for an hour.  
> Ow, the edge


	3. Awake

“Thanks aplenty, Mattie!”

He ignored when Matthew desperately called after him, instead sprinting toward the stable and hastily unlocking the gate, scampering past. Feeling the billfold almost fold under his ample force, he quickly lodged it into one of the maud's small panniers, as to not damage it further. It was packed with essential documents, riding license, birth certificate, a Charg-It card, some pounds for the rode, and a United Kingdom passport. None were under his own name, but he could surely pass as his own twin, right? 

Loud, impending footsteps came from the front porch, accompanied by pleads for Alfred to return. Al knew he better get his ass moving before he got pummeled by a hockey blade. He let out a shaky pant and quickly mounted the mammoth of a donkey, kicking its side while holding on for dear life as it reared back and barreled through the ranch. The faster it got, the smoother the travel was and he soon forgot all about how he just thieved all his brother's savings. Guilt deluged through him and he sincerely hoped that frog eating pervert would do something astute for once and take good care of his brother.

Dozing off, Alfred jerked back into reality when he realized they were no longer sporting on country trail. Instead, they were galloping on worn asphalt. A quick peek to either side told him they were currently trotting over a couple deserted highways onto an empty, trash-filled bridge. This was farther than he had ever adventured, and he was suddenly frightened at the desolation of the roads.

He ordered his burrow to slow to a walk, his mind was filled with doubts that anyone even inhabited this place, yet he kept going. The concrete bridge seemed to go on forever, the dull white rectangles that adorned the street started to wear and disappear the farther he went forward. Terror started to consume him, and he was aware that maybe this time he had crossed too many lines. What was he to do? He stole all of Matthews credentials and savings, ran away from home, and now he was walking down a concrete bridge that seemed to stretch forever over dried out, dead plains. Returning wasn't on option, so he jabbed his mount again and drove forward.

His eyes caught movement up forward, filling him with hope that maybe this wasn't purgatory, there were people beyond his home! He demanded the horse to go into a full sprint, making it all the way to sage in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only thing I've written for Hetalia that wasn't gore or smut.  
> Honestly, it's shite.


End file.
